


Numb

by CrowKing



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Comforting, F/M, Intimacy, Mentions of Suicide, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: After the deaths of Romeo and Juliet, you rush to Benvolio who has lost almost everyone. When you see the toll it has taken on him, you become concerned. You become even more concerned when Lord Montague walks in the room.





	Numb

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark piece of work. Before you read, know that there are triggers and dark ideas said in this fic. Please read cautiously. You can find more of my work on my tumblr. [ https://crowkingwrites.tumblr.com/ ]

You were never a religious girl, but you knew today was the day God had abandoned Verona. At first, it seemed like some kind of joke. Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet dead in each other’s arms. It had to be a joke. It wasn’t until you heard the Prince’s rage that you believed it.

You couldn’t go to their burial. People knew that Romeo loved you first. People knew that Juliet was your friend. Some people said you were the cause. You should have let Romeo love you and they both wouldn’t be dead. They said. This was your fault. They said.

How could you pay attention to the words of sheep when you knew someone who was drowning in their misery? Why would you go to a burial of two dead people when you knew of one friend who needed you and was still breathing? You ran. Your feet carried you across bridges and down the streets of Verona.

You stopped in front of his home. You knew he was here. He had to be. You knocked on his door quickly. When he didn’t answer, your hands hit the door, and you kept going. He had to answer. He was there. He was going to answer. 

“Rosaline,” you heard a cracked, weak voice. There he was. His dark hair was everywhere. There was bags under his eyes. He didn’t even bother getting dressed. You saw the bloodstains on his tunic. The rips in his pants. You felt your heart breaking into pieces.

“Benvolio, please. Let me help you,” you went to go take off his shirt. He grabbed your wrist before you could touch him.

“Don’t,” he said, looking at you. He was holding it in. “It’s the only thing I have of him left.”

Mercutio.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could say to him. You looked around. Pots and pans had rotting food inside of them. The pungent smell of cheese wafted into your nose. Furniture was thrown or placed in weird positions. The wooden table’s legs were broken. You spotted a sword stabbed through a shelf. On the walls around you were the words: “A plague on both your houses.”

It was everywhere.

A plague. A plague. A plague on both your houses. A plague. A plague. A plague on both your houses. 

“Are you alright?” you asked him. He shook his head, taking a deep breath. He was still holding it in.

“No,” he tried to smile. He was trying so hard. “I am not alright.”

“Tell me what I can do. Do you want food? Do you want to get out of here?” you closed in the space between you. You needed to look at him. His dark eyes were growing red from stress and exhaustion. There was a bit of dirt on his cheek. He had bit down on lip so much, the skin broke in different places and it never fully healed. 

“I don’t feel good,” he said to you. “I can’t feel anything.” He pulled up his sleeve to reveal dozens of tiny cuts up and down his arm. You grabbed onto it.

“Benvolio,” you gasped. Looking at each cut, your heart broke even more. “What are you doing to yourself? You have to stop. This is nonsense. All of this is nonsense.”

“You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand,” his breathing became uneven. “Everyone around me is dead.”

“No, no, that’s not true,” you explained. “You still have me. You still have your uncle. Your aunt.”

“She killed herself,” Benvolio corrected you. “They found her hours after they found them.” His hands were shaking. “I have nothing left. All joy has left me. I’m better off dead.” You grabbed him by his shoulders and looked into his eyes. Tears streaked down his face. His eyes looked everywhere but not your eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” you felt tears form in your eyes. You would not cry. Not now. He needed you. He desperately needed you. “You are not better off dead. You have people here who love you. I am here. I love you.”

“I can’t feel anything, Rosaline.” He told you. You had to do something. You had to make him feel something. Anything. You found his lips and kissed him as with as much force as you could muster. 

“Can you feel this?” you said in-between kisses. “Focus on me.” You kept kissing him. Your hands ran through his hair. Soon, you felt a hand slowly wrapped around your waist and another hand on your neck. He returned the kiss slowly. Benvolio was always gentle. No matter how excited or angry he could get, he was always gentle with you. 

Nothing else mattered to you. Not in this moment. All you could feel was him, and all he could touch was you. His hands gripped you so tightly as if you were the last precious thing he had.

You heard someone clear their throat behind you. Benvolio let go of you first. His tears were gone. 

“Uncle,” he greeted. You turned to see Lord Montague behind you. The creases in his face made him look more intimidating than he actually was. He wore his family’s crest over the left side of his chest.   
“May I speak with you, alone?” he asked him. Lord Montague never liked you. He thought you were too promiscuous for his son and maybe his nephew as well. 

“Go on, Rosaline,” Benvolio whispered to you. His tears were gone, and replaced with a militant look. Benvolio knew how to hide things especially from his uncle. “I’ll be fine. It’s alright. Go on.”

You nodded. You left Benvolio alone with Lord Montague, but you didn’t leave completely. You stood by the door, listening to what Lord Montague had to say.

“Good afternoon, Uncle,” Benvolio greeted.

“Our family is dying, Benvolio,” he said to him, encircling him. “These are dangerous and cruel times. We must defend ourselves from the Capulets and the Crown.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Benvolio responded. You watched the life you breathed into fade away. His eyes turning back into their former numbness.

“I have plans for you, Benvolio. Great and terrible plans,” he placed his hands on his shoulders. “You are to be my heir. You are to be my key to end the Capulets.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“I think it’s time to send you away to a friend of mine in Rome. You will be trained. You will be taught everything, and when you come back you will end the Capulets. All of them. Root, stem, and all.”

“Yes, Uncle.” Lord Montague looked around the room, seeing the words upon the walls. He smiled in a way only a proud father would. 

“A plague on our houses, indeed. You are to be my pestilence, a sickness spread across to anyone who harms us. Do you understand, Benvolio?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Benvolio’s eyes grew dark. This was not him. The boy that laughed with joy, found peace in violent waters, who smiled at you under the moonlight was gone. He was replaced with something else. You swore he looked at you. You thought Benvolio was still there. His eyes were dry and empty like the cup of poison.

A plague was coming to Verona.


End file.
